"My hands still work." Her mother held her chin up. "I hate just lying here when I could be doing something to help. Your wedding's in less than four months, honey. That's sooner than you think."

"Let's see, four months..." Kari studied the ceiling. "That means Jessie will be two and my morning sickness will be gone." She punctuated the idea by jabbing her finger into the air. "Let's hope it's sooner than we think."

"Ah, yes. I remember feeling that way." Their mother grinned, but she gave Kari a pointed look. "I thought I'd never have all 136 REUNION.

you kids out of diapers, but it was over in a blur." Her voice was tender, her eyes suddenly damp. "Your little Jessie girl is a handful now, but savor every minute, Kari. Blink a few times and you'll be at her high school graduation."

Ashley was about to agree when the phone rang.

Elizabeth picked up the receiver and tapped the On button. "Hello?', A pause followed and she covered the mouthpiece. "It's Erin," she whispered. "Yes, I remember."

For several minutes their mother carried on a conversation with Erin, assuring her that yes, everything would be okay. Yes, God had a plan for her life and the life of the baby girl Candy had refused to give up. "He has a baby for you, Erin. I believe that much." A bit of silence. "Have you and Sam prayed about that?"

Ashley could hardly believe it. Here was their mother, fighting some awful, aggressive breast cancer, struggling to keep down even a glass of water, but her entire energy was focused on her children, on the events they were dealing with: Erin's loss of the baby she'd been waiting for, Luke's highs and lows at his new job, Kari's struggles with her strong-willed two-year- old, even the wedding she and Landon were planning.

All of it mattered more to Elizabeth than her own situation. Their father had always been the strong silent type, the spiritual leader everyone fell back on when times were tough. But their mother was the family's heartbeat. Always she was at the center of their good and bad times, lending perspective or a kind word or a shoulder to cry on.

Never did any of them appreciate her more than they did now. Ashley talked to her siblings every day, and all of them were praying, praying with a kind of fervor none of them had known before. Not because they doubted God's faithfulness in hearing their prayers and answering. But because they appreciated her so much more now, appreciated everything she'd ever done, every perfect word or loving touch. Before they might're taken her for granted once in a while, the way kids sometimes do with their parents. But not anymore.

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Now they savored every minute. And when they weren't doing that, they kept busy trying not to think about what would happen if God decided to take her home early.

Because none of them-Ashley most of all-had any idea how they'd survive without her.

The girls had been gone for thirty minutes, and it was an hour before John would be home.

Elizabeth was glad. She hated getting sick in front of them, and the nausea hit her like clockwork every afternoon. Always she found a reason to say goodbye to whichever visitors had stopped by: Almost always Kari and Ashley were there, and often Brooke came by on her lunch break.

But come four o'clock, she would yawn and tell them she was tired:, she needed her rest if she was going to kick cancer in the and send it on its way. But the truth was, she needed her in order to hide her sickness.

The nausea came at her like a baseball bat, hard and swift and in its accuracy. She would barely make it to the bathroom, grab the sink, and thrust her face toward the toilet.

This afternoon was worse than usual, the way Dr. Steinman predicted.

"When will it go away?" she'd asked him the last time John had taken her in for a post-op checkup. "A few weeks?"

He'd sighed and shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid not, Elizabeth. It'll get worse before it gets better."

Indeed.

Elizabeth clung to the toilet rim. If she didn't hang on, she would fall to the floor and never get up. Her stomach twisted convulsed until she had nothing left but dry heaves. Then, the nausea subsided and she slithered to the floor.

down her face, and she ran her hands through hair, trying to cool off. But the action left something strange 138.

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in her fingers, and when she looked she gasped out loud. Her hands were full of hair-thick, dark clumps that stuck to her palms and twisted around her fingers.

The picture made her sick in a new sort of way. She pushed herself into a sitting position and grabbed a piece of toilet paper. Then she gathered the hair from her hands, wrapped it in the pa per, and threw it in the trash.

From the beginning Dr. Steinman had told her what to expect, but nothing could're prepared her for this. At the rate she was losing her hair, she'd have to start wearing a baseball cap in the next few days. Not that she had to; she'd even told herself that it wouldn't matter.

It was just hair; it would grow back.

But now that it was falling out, leaving blank patches along her scalp, Elizabeth was horrified. All her life her hair had been part of her look, something she'd expected with each glance in the mirror. Watching it fall out was horrifying. She would either shave it all off or wear a cap. That way when she stumbled into the bathroom for another round of vomiting, her reflection wouldn't make things worse.

Minutes passed, and finally Elizabeth had the strength to stand. She was halfway out of the bathroom when she stopped and stared in the mirror. Dr. Steinman had been checking her in cisions every few days, and he was happy with how she was heal ing. He had advised her not to look at herself until she was prepared mentally for what she would see.

Elizabeth pressed her robe smooth against her belly and winced at her flat chest. Her shape looked unreal, as if someone had placed her image in a computerized photo program and swapped her top with that of a man. The idea that her breasts were gone was something she couldn't quite grasp yet.

She turned sideways and studied her altered profile; then she faced the mirror again. Was she ready? Was this the time when she should lift her pajama top and see the damage cancer had 139.

kin g s u r y ,' s m a lie y wreaked on her body? Dr. Steinman had warned her that the sight-at first-could make her sick to her stomach.

But after spending twenty minutes hovered over the toilet, she didn't have anything left to lose. She might as well look now and get it over with. Not looking didn't make things different, didn't change the fact that she'd had a double mastectomy. The sooner she could stand looking at herself in the mirror, the closer she'd be to making a comeback.., right?

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and steeled herself to the image she was about to see. One button at a time she undid her lightweight robe and let it fall to the floor. Her thin cotton pajama shirt was all that stood in the way now. Her heart kicked into a strange double beat as she crossed her arms in front of her and took hold of the shirt bottom. Slowly, one inch at a time she lifted it until she had exposed her entire midsection.

For a while she looked at herself that way, with only her middle showing. Not bad, she thought. Not bad considering all the pregnancies and births her stomach had been through. She drew a deep breath and held it. One more inch and then another and Her eyes grew wide, her expression frozen as she pulled the shirt all the way off. The flesh across her chest was pink and flat land stretched along the sides. The scar worked its way in a grononpattern around the perimeter of where each breast Elizabeth couldn't draw a breath, couldn't exhale, couldn't do but stare in horror at herself. She would never let John see her this waymnever. The longer she studied herself, the e she looked. Shocking, horrifying, a mutilated mass of flat-scarred tissue where she once had looked feminine and tive.

She'd seen this look somewhere before, and finally she remembered where. On a special about nuclear war and Hiroshima, she'd seen photos of people with massive chemical burns across their 140.

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bodies. That's how she looked now. Like a burn victim, the sort of hideous look people turned away from in disgust.

With a sudden move Elizabeth turned her back to the mirror and slipped her pajama top back on. Dr. Steinman was right. She should've waited until she was ready, until the incisions had time to heal completely, until she was more used to the idea.

In the hours and days and weeks to come, she would feel sicker and lose more hair. Probably all of it. Life was going to get harder, more tiresome with every morning. That combined with how badly she'd been disfigured could've been enough to make her give up. But she couldn't do that, not when she had so much to live for.

Elizabeth shuffled her way to the bed, fell onto it, and stretched her legs out.

God... help me fight this battle. I can't do it without you. I look hideous, God. Even you must think so.

The curtains rustled as a light breeze sifted through the bedroom window.

You are beautiful, daughter. I knit you together in your mother's womb.

The holy response came at her in the wind and spoke to her soul. "God?" She whispered his name, glancing about the room. He was here, wasn't he? Caring about her, loving her even if she looked like a monster. It was true. God had knit her together in her mother's womb, and that's still the way he saw her. Whole and complete and beautiful.

Suddenly she knew the goal, knew how she'd have to see herself if she was ever to take the upper hand over cancer. God had given her a second chance with the surgery, and that could never be a bad thing, no matter how she looked. She would check her reflection in the mirror every day, praying not for a renewed body but for a renewed heart. She would know she was on the right track when she could look in the mirror and not be horrified. When her flat, misshapen chest was no longer a sign of defeat and disease and destruction.

But rather a sign of God Almighty's redemption and deliver-ance.

141.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

The social worker had tried to warn Erin what would happen if the adoption fell through, the sorrow she would experience. "You'll feel like your baby died," the woman told her. "Most people don't understand that."

Erin had let the comments pass. Her adoption wouldn't fail And if by some strange set of circumstances the adoption didn't take place, at least she would never have known the But the social worker had been right on.

The weeks and months of putting together the nursery, talk-about names with Sam, and dreaming with her mother about of raising a little girl. All of it had made the child a real part of their family, even though they'd never met her. She probably would have golden curls and big blue eyes like her sisters, and just before the meeting with Dave and Candy, they'd decided on a name.

Amy Elizabeth: Erin had talked with her mother and Ashley and Kari and and all of them said the same thing. The feelings Erin 142 RE U N { 0 N.

was having, the thoughts that occupied her mind, all of it was the same as if she herself were carrying the baby. That's how strong the maternal instinct was-whether the baby grew inside her or not.

Now she could barely force herself to go to work each day. The students didn't know what was going on, only that their teacher wasn't herself, wasn't the happy, creative, energetic person they'd come to depend on. Erin couldn't help it. Every little girl in her class seemed to have the face she'd assigned to Amy Elizabeth.

Questions assaulted her.

How come if God was so good, he'd denied them the chance to be parents? Would Candy's baby girl have a hope for a good life living between Candy and her mother, running around barefoot in dirty clothes and eating wildflowers while Candy smoked dope?

None of it seemed right, and in the month since Candy changed her mind, Erin was certain the baby had been born. With Candy's future hanging in the balance, the infant girl was probably being cared for by her grandmother. The one their pastor had told them about in the first place.

Erin and Sam's car-sharing arrangement wasn't working out. Sam usually pulled up in front of her school at about five-thirty, long after Erin had finished correcting papers and prepping for the next day. Most days she sat in the school's library staring out the window waiting for him, hating herself for making Sam sell their car.

The whole ordeal had been such a waste.

Police had promised to try to recover the money they'd given Dave, but a search of his apartment turned up nothing but the empty envelope and ample drug paraphernalia. The money was gone-smoked or sniffed or shot up the arms of Dave and his friends.

Thinking about it didn't make things any better, but Erin couldn't help herself.

It was Thursday night after a long week, 143.

kingsbury smalley and as she and Sam walked through the garage door into their house they were both silent. That was something else, the way she and Sam hadn't talked to each other much since the loss of the baby.

That first night after they got the news had been good. Sam had held her and stroked her hair and helped her know she wasn't alone in how she felt. But since then he hadn't talked about the baby once, as if by ignoring the pain they were feeling it might somehow go away.

Erin wanted to talk about it all the time.

"Do you think she's had the baby yet, Sam?" she'd ask. Or "What would it take for Candy to change her mind again? You know, let us adopt her baby, after all?"

Sam would give her short answers, until finally she looked deep into his eyes and accused him of not caring.

He denied that, but still.., Erin put her bag away and returned to the kitchen. Sam was digging through the refrigerator. When he heard her come up behind him, he turned and gave her a half smile. "Any ideas for dinner?"

"Not a one." Erin flashed him a sarcastic smile and immediately let it drop from her face. "Maybe you can come up with something tonight."

Before the ordeal with the baby, Erin got home by four o'clock, early enough to make a meal. Now that they were down to one vehicle, she often used her slow cooker to keep a dinner simmering through the day. But this week she hadn't cooked once, falling back on tuna sandwiches, canned stew, and macaroni and cheese.

Sam released a long sigh, shut the refrigerator, and turned to her. "Wanna talk about it, Erin?"

"About what?" She poured herself a glass of water and leaned against the kitchen counter, facing him.

"About your attitude?" His tone was even. He didn't want to fight with her; she could see that much.

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"I don't want dinner." She stared at her shoes, her eyes narrow. "I want that little girl." This time her eyes met his. "It's like I'm paralyzed, Sam. I'd do anything to make her ours again."

A tired look pulled at Sam's features;' but he came to her anyway. "I owe you an apology."

"Why?" She angled her head. She'd expected him to be frustrated with her tired of talking about Candy's baby.

"Because-" he rested against the center island and faced her, their toes touching-"every time you try to talk about what happened, I shut you down." He crossed his arms and shifted his gaze to the window behind her. "She's gone, Erin. I can't think what more we can say." He looked at her again. "But I was wrong; we have to talk about it. Otherwise we'll walk around like-" he gestured to the silent spaces between them-"like this, Erin. Silent and hurting and never connecting with each other."

"Somewhere in here-" Erin put her hand over her heart-"I don't feel like it's over, Sam. I feel like God still has a plan for that baby and for our role in her life." She let her hand fall to her side. "That's why I can't stop talking about her)' Air found its way into her lungs and she held her breath for a moment. "But you're right, too. We have to move on, and that won't happen until I let it go. At least once in a while."

Sam reached out and took her hands in his. "Let's make a deal."

"Okay." Her heart fluttered with possibility. "What?" "Every time you think about her, let's take it to God. Let's pray more, and maybe he'll show us why you still think he has a plan for this baby in our lives, okay?"

Prayer! Of course. She and Sam hadn't prayed about the baby since the day they'd found out. As if they'd taken the news and given up immediately.

She worked her fingers between his and drew him close. For a long time they stood that way, dinner forgotten, both lost in 145 kingsbury smalley own thoughts. She broke the silence first.."Can we pray now?"

"Yes." Sam closed his eyes and let his head rest against hers. "God, you know this little baby who may or may not be born yet, Candy's baby. Father, we still feel she's supposed to be with us, but we've failed to come to you every day and ask for a miracle. Forgive us, God. Please hear our prayers:"

The rest of the evening was better than any they'd shared in the past month.

They talked about Erin's mother and the plans for a reunion that summer.

"Does your dad think she'll be well enough?"

"He won't say." She was sitting beside him on the sofa. "But I he's worried."

"Why?"

"Because my mom wanted the reunion in late August, around thirty-fifth wedding anniversary, but we're planning the in July. There can only be one reason for that." Sam nodded, sympathy flooding his eyes, his voice softer than "Your dad's worried she won't be well enough if they wait too long."

but Erin didn't want to say so. They read for a while, an occasional bit of conversation, and then they turned morning they were awakened.by a phone call just afo'clock. sat straight up in bed, her heart racing. She answered it second ring. "Hello?"

hello." It was the social worker. "I have some news stopped. "About Candy?"

o, another baby."